She saw a purse on a cardboard dresser. She rummaged through the purse and found a wallet. She was relieved to find the identification inside was for Marie Theresa Marsh. The girl in the ID card photo looked like her, except her hair was shorter, only about chin length. The birthday was the same as she remembered. As she’d suspected her address was for an apartment in the Trenches. At least here she wouldn’t have to hide Veronica from Mrs. Carney or sneak around to avoid curfew.
In the wallet she found thirteen dollars. There were no credit cards, nor even any ATM cards. This Marie probably did all her banking at a liquor store. Thirteen dollars wasn’t much, but it would at least buy some food and water. She slung the purse over her shoulder and then bent down to kiss Veronica’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
She made sure to lock the door as much to keep Veronica inside as to keep anyone else out. She hurried down the dark staircase and went down five floors to ground level. A grubby man was hunched over the mailboxes, exactly the kind of person she wanted to keep Veronica away from. Marie slipped past him, out onto the street.
Rampart City didn’t seem any different. That she’d brought Veronica to the future hadn’t seemed to change anything. The sidewalks were just as crowded as before; the people looked the same as always. This eased her mind a little as she made her way to the nearest liquor store.
She found the water and picked up a couple of gallon jugs. The liquor store’s selection of food was limited to mostly snacks. That was fine; Veronica wouldn’t be too hungry for a while. Marie bought a box of crackers; she figured that would last both of them enough for a couple of days. By then Veronica should feel well enough that they could venture out to a market.
She was almost to the counter when she heard a man growl, “Put the money in a bag. And you so much as think of hitting an alarm, I’ll spray your brains all over the wall.”
Marie flattened herself against a beer cooler. She looked up and saw a man in a hooded sweatshirt armed with a pistol. Her heart began to beat faster as she thought the robber might kill her before she ever got the chance to see Veronica again.
“Here you go,” the clerk said. Marie’s heart beat even faster at the sight of the bag of money. She thought of her wallet and its paltry thirteen dollars. The money in that bag could allow her to buy a lot more than water and crackers for Veronica.
Before she knew it, she’d bolted around the corner to face the robber. He spun around, the barrel of his gun aimed at her head. She shook back the hair over her special eye and focused on him. It wasn’t hard to find dark secrets in his checkered past.
“Your uncle used to touch you. When you were twelve you finally got tired of it. You found your father’s gun. You shot him.”
“How could you know that?” The gun wobbled in his hand.
“You watched him bleed to death. You waited until you were sure he was dead before you called the police.”
As the robber began to cry, Marie snatched the bag away from him. She ran from the store; she didn’t bother to pay for the water or crackers. She didn’t stop until she was back at the apartment. She unlocked the door to find Veronica still asleep. Marie sighed and then emptied out the paper bag. Three hundred forty-two dollars. Not a fortune, but it would be enough to get started.
She shoved the money into her purse and then reached over to stroke Veronica’s sweaty hair. “We’re going to make it,” she said. “We’re going to be happy.”
***
Once the girl and child vanished, the glow faded from the pentagram. The Watchmaker hesitated for a moment; he braced himself to vanish along with them. But nothing happened. With a sigh, he stepped away from the pentagram. The vault around him remained the same.
He remained cautious as he climbed up the stairs. They creaked as they always had, which he took as a good sign. His right hand slipped into his pocket for his pistol as he reached the top of the stairs. He opened the door and then poked his head through.
Everything looked the same. The display cases were still shattered, debris was still scattered around the floor, and the lights remained inoperative. Apparently nothing had changed, at least not for Samuel Schulman. The Watchmaker sighed with relief.
The apartment upstairs was similarly unchanged. He was relieved not to find any other occupants; it would have been risky to kill anyone. He didn’t want to do anything to draw attention to himself, not until he was ready.
The Watchmaker went into the room euphemistically called a “dining room” and emptied the burlap sack. The book dropped onto the table with a thud. The scaly black cover faced him, the title of the book inlaid in gold. The Watchmaker ran a finger over the runes and smiled.
The fools. They had possessed the book for over a century but had never understood the power inside. They had simply locked it away in a storeroom with other trinkets they had accumulated over the years.
But now it was his again. He had come so close fifty-four years ago. For decades he had searched for the lost book before he located it at St. Martin’s in Rampart City. So overjoyed at this, he had allowed himself to get careless. He had hoped he could just smash into the cathedral and take what he wanted.
He had not counted on that infernal Scarlet Knight. With so much crime in the city, what were the odds the hero would be in the neighborhood of St. Martin’s that night? He had gambled and lost when the do-gooder dropped out of the sky, into the alley where the Watchmaker had fled to.
The Watchmaker’s body then had been younger, taller, and far more muscular, the body of a construction worker who had worked near St. Martin’s. Yet he still found himself overmatched in height and strength by the hero in red plate armor. The Watchmaker had gone for his gun, but the Scarlet Knight was too fast. He swatted the pistol away into the alley.
“That doesn’t belong to you,” the Scarlet Knight said. He pulled out a golden sword; the blade glowed in the dark alley. “Give it back and then we can pay a little visit to the police.”
“Never!” the Watchmaker hissed. He had been foolish enough to think back then he could defeat the Scarlet Knight in single combat. He launched himself at the hero with his claws extended and teeth bared.
It was a foolish strategy, he realized seconds later when the sword lanced through his midsection. He still had tried to claw at the Scarlet Knight, but a punch to the jaw dropped him to the ground. The precious book slipped from his grasp to lay at the hero’s feet. The Watchmaker reached out for it, but he was too weak.
The moment the hero picked up the book, the Watchmaker heard a shriek. He hoped it had come from the Scarlet Knight, but then the charred remains of the book landed in front of him. The scaly cover still bore the handprints of the Scarlet Knight from where he’d touched it. The Watchmaker reached out for the book in the hope he could still salvage it. Just as his fingers touched the edge, the golden sword speared the book in the center of the cover.
“Whatever this is, I think it best if it were disposed of,” the Scarlet Knight said.
The Watchmaker could do nothing but watch as the hero carved the book into pieces. Those pieces flared with light for a moment before they turned to ashes. The Watchmaker lay in a pathetic heap on the ground, where he sobbed over what he had lost.
Eventually a police car had arrived, along with an ambulance. They had taken the Watchmaker to the hospital. There he made his escape, first into an orderly and then into a businessman who had been admitted to have his appendix removed.
Since then he had searched for a way to recover the knowledge in the book. His quest had been fruitless, until he saw Marie Marsh. He had recognized her for what she was immediately. Once he had seen her eye, he knew she could end his search.
It had taken eighteen months to make it happen, but finally he had the book. This time he would not fail.
The Watchmaker opened the book and then set to work.
Chapter 12
Becky insisted they g
o to lunch at their “usual place” in the city, which turned out to be an Indian restaurant a few blocks from Executive Plaza. Emma had never eaten Indian food before, so while she could read the menu written in Hindi, she didn’t know what any of the food tasted like. When the waiter came, Emma forced herself to smile and then said, “I guess I’ll just have what I usually get.”
The waiter stared at her for a moment, but Becky bailed her out. “Make that two number fives. Extra hot. And two bottles of beer—cold.”
The waiter bowed and then hurried off. Becky shook her head. “I hate when they get new waiters. Have to break them in all over again.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Emma mumbled.
Becky reached across the table to take her hand. “Come on, Em, relax. It’s going to be all right. Everything will go smoothly. This time next week you’ll be Mrs. Dr. Dan Dreyfus.”
“Great,” Emma said.
“So has he told you where the honeymoon is yet?”
“No. I think he wants it to be a surprise.”
“Knowing him it’ll probably be to one of those old places in South America way out in the jungle.”
“South America?”
“You know, those ruins he’s always digging around in.”
“Oh, right,” Emma said. Apparently in this universe Dan was not an Egyptologist. He must study the Incas and other civilizations.
“That sounds like a lousy place for a vacation to me. I mean, maybe I’m too picky, but I’d like to go someplace where I won’t be eaten by a giant spider or boa constrictor or crocodile, you know?”
“Right. I’m sure you and Steve will find somewhere nice to go.”
“Steve? Who’s Steve?”
Emma forced herself to smile again as she tried to think of a lie. “I was just using it generically,” she said. “Whoever you marry.”
“Uh-huh.” Becky stared at Emma for a moment; she must have decided Emma hadn’t lost her mind yet as she said, “Well whoever I do marry had better take me someplace with a nice, big, comfy bed if you know what I mean.”
Though she knew she shouldn’t, Emma blushed. Until this point she hadn’t thought much about the honeymoon. It was still too much of a shock to think she would get to marry Dan. “I know what you mean,” she said.
“Wherever you go, make sure to bring a couple of boxes of condoms, right? Or are you planning on having kids right away?”
“I don’t know.”
“That would just thrill Mom. A cute little grandkid for her to fuss over.”
“You think Mom is lonely?”
“She will be once you move out. I mean, what’s she supposed to do all day, watch soap operas?” Becky paused as the waiter arrived with two plates of curry and two sweating bottles of beer. Becky took a sip of her beer and then said, “I keep telling her she needs to ask the symphony for her old job back. Or if she doesn’t want to play anymore then she could teach or something. Give private lessons, you know?”
Emma took a bite of the curry so she wouldn’t have to say anything. She nearly spit the curry back out as her mouth instantly burned with heat. She gulped down some of the beer, the first alcohol she’d touched since one glass of wine on her twenty-first birthday. The spiciness of the curry overwhelmed the bitterness of the beer, but left an aftertaste that made her grimace.
“You must really be out of it,” Becky said. “Can’t even handle your curry.”
“I’ll be fine,” Emma wheezed. “I just need a moment.”
“Well anyway, maybe after the wedding you could talk to Mom about it again. She’ll listen to you. You’re her real daughter.” Becky took a bite of her curry, which went down a lot smoother.
From what Becky had said, Emma figured her parents must have adopted Becky to get her away from her terrible birth mother. What about Becky’s other sisters? What had happened to them? “I’m sure Mom loves you just as much.”
“Yeah, right. Look at you, marrying a doctor who owns his own mansion and private jet. How can I compete with that?”
“You don’t have to compete.” It was Emma’s turn to reach across the table to take Becky’s hand. “Mom will be happy as long as you’re happy.”
“Sure.”
“You’re right: I should talk to her about this. It’s not good for her to sit around the house all day with nothing to do. I promise after the wedding we’ll sit down and have a heart-to-heart about it.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s what sisters are for, right?”
***
Marie couldn’t sleep. Every time her eyelids drooped, she thought she heard Veronica cough. She would get out of her chair then to make sure Veronica was still asleep. The little girl still sweated beneath the blanket, but her forehead didn’t feel so warm.
Around dawn, Marie decided in order to stay awake, she should clean up the apartment. When Veronica woke up, she wouldn’t want to see a filthy sty. In the 19th Century she lived in a big house with all the most modern comforts of that time. She was accustomed to a certain standard of living.
The Marie who had lived here didn’t have much in the way of cleaning supplies. Beneath the sink Marie found a bottle of dish soap, some rags, and a gray sponge. There wasn’t even a broom. She could always go out and buy supplies, but after her last trip outside, she decided it would be best to lie low. The cashier at the liquor store probably couldn’t identify her, but she didn’t want to take unnecessary chances.
Marie did venture out as far as the dumpster in the alley so she could dispose of months worth of take-out boxes. She had to make a half-dozen trips in order to get rid of all the garbage. What a slob that other Marie had been. Well, from now on things would be different. Marie was a mother now for all practical purposes. She would have to find somewhere better for her and Veronica to live, somewhere with a yard for Veronica to play in, where she could be safe and happy. Marie thought of Emma Earl’s old house in Parkdale; a nice suburban house like that would be just the thing.
If only she could afford it. At the moment all she had was the three hundred forty-two dollars from the liquor store robbery. She could always go rob more stores, but if she were caught, she would lose Veronica forever.
As she considered this, a telephone rang. Only on the third ring did Marie realize it was her telephone. Who could it be? She didn’t know anybody except for Emma Earl, the Watchmaker, and the people at the nursing home and halfway house. Why would any of them call her?
But it might not be for her. At least not this her. The old Marie, the one who had made such a mess in the apartment, probably knew other people. It might be a boyfriend or girlfriend calling for her. It could even be her parents!
With that thought in mind she snatched the old rotary phone’s receiver from off the wall. “About fucking time,” a voice growled at her. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re late. Your shift started an hour ago. That’s the third time this week.”
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“Get your ass down here in ten minutes or you’re fired. Capiche?”
Marie looked over at Veronica, who still slept on the bed. “I’m sorry. My friend is very sick. I can’t leave her.”
“Then you’re fired, toots. You better clean your uniform—”
Marie slammed the receiver down. When the phone rang again, she unplugged the cord. That had obviously been her boss—former boss now. In the closet, she found a pink waitress uniform. She had probably worked at a diner nearby.
Well, not anymore. She went over to the apartment’s only window. She had to strain in order to pry it open. Then she tossed the uniform out the window. Let that awful man get it back now. She had better things to worry about.
She went back over to the bed to check on Veronica. The little girl had turned onto her side, the doll clutched to her chest yet. Marie brushed back some hair to feel Veronica’s forehead. It felt cooler than the last time. That might be because she had just stuck her hand out
the window into the cool morning air.
To make sure, Marie rummaged through the medicine cabinet until she found a thermometer. It was an old manual one, so old it probably still used mercury. She wiped it down as best she could before she inserted one end into Veronica’s mouth. Marie tapped her foot on the floor as she counted off two minutes.
Then she pulled the thermometer out of Veronica’s mouth. She let out a sigh at the result: 99.2. She was almost normal! A few more hours and the fever would have broken entirely.
Marie sagged onto her chair and allowed herself to finally get some sleep.
Chapter 13
Emma woke up the next morning just as she had for most of the first eight years of her life by her mother shaking her. “Time to get up, baby,” Mom whispered.
“I don’t wanna go to school,” Emma whined into her pillow.
“You’re not in school anymore, baby,” Mom said.
At this Emma began to remember yesterday and the events that had led up to it. She put a hand to her head and felt the curly hair that was so much like her mother’s. She wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was a grown-up and she would marry Dan soon.
“Sorry,” Emma said. “I guess it’s just waking up like that brought back old memories.”
“It’s all right, baby. You go take a nice warm shower while I finish getting breakfast.”
“OK.”
Emma toddled off to the bathroom. After she took off her nightgown, she studied herself in the mirror. There wasn’t much physically different about her than before, except the scar on her left shoulder was gone. That scar had been courtesy of the Black Dragoon the last time they’d fought, which had ended with Ian MacGregor’s suicide. But this Emma had never been the Scarlet Knight and thus had never fought the Black Dragoon. She wondered if there was a Scarlet Knight in this place and who it might be.
Her answer came a moment later when another face joined hers in the mirror, that of a translucent man with a long beard and pointed hat. With one hand Emma stifled a scream and with the other she grabbed a towel to cover herself. “I should have known you’d be here,” Marlin said. “Taking a little vacation at home, are you?”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 38